


Kiss It Off Me

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 80's AU, Alternate Universe - Punk, Bad Boys, Breaking and Entering, Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: I love you,he should have said, but what was the use of words when Keith could feel the pulse on his wrist, the butterflies in his stomach, the whole inner orchestra that only sounded harmonious when their eyes met? Keith knew, and only because Shiro knew as well. When Keith bit his lip, when he flickered his tongue, when he kicked an innocent desert rock, when he leaned against his side, Shiro was so lucky that the cosmos loved him back.—In which Shiro and Keith shamelessly trespass and are shamelessly in love.—A gift for my starlightBlueyBlues
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Kiss It Off Me

Their fingers tangled as often as their tongues did. After a cheap yet heartwarming dinner at the usual roadside joint, they walked across town, from places they recognized to uncharted parts of the desert, no aim but with full trust that wherever they ended up, the stars above them would be their silent tour guides.

It baffled Shiro still, how Keith’s eyes seemed to gain a different spark at night; they mirrored the sky with the added beauty of having them looking at him. Made Shiro feel special when he was nothing but a star nerd. He loved the cosmos so much he was dating the most stellar guy he had ever come across and God forbid he would ever let go. Unconsciously, he squeezed Keith’s hand tighter, which only brought Keith against his shoulder with the swing of their footsteps.

_ I love you, _ he should have said, but what was the use of words when Keith could feel the pulse on his wrist, the butterflies in his stomach, the whole inner orchestra that only sounded harmonious when their eyes met? Keith knew, and only because Shiro knew as well. When Keith bit his lip, when he flickered his tongue, when he kicked an innocent desert rock, when he leaned against his side, Shiro was so lucky that the cosmos loved him back.

Maybe it was the levity of a beer or two (or the entire pack they got at that convenience store) that drove them up against the side of a bus, Keith’s body trapped between chipped paint and Shiro’s bigger frame. The tip of their noses met with a bump, the curves of their permanent smiles not vanishing even when they kissed for what could have been the millionth time that night alone, and not the last either. Shiro’s hand perfectly cup Keith’s crotch, feeling him again over the jeans, a moan when he saw that they were on the same page. Drunk off of each other’s glow, faux leather jackets in the dim light the night provided, they had plausibly the worst idea ever.

“Y’know, Pop had this friend, Bernie,” Keith began as he pulled apart, fingers fidgeting with one of Shiro’s necklaces, “who drove the school bus before he retired.”

“Hm-hm,” Shiro  _ was _ interested in what Keith was saying, he truly was, but he was just so  _ intoxicating _ ーthe curve of Keith’s neck, his scent, the vintage jacket, the tunnel on his lobe, the tickling of the tips of his overgrown hair. He couldn’t take his mouth off of his boyfriend, his hands off his waist, let alone make sense of what could be just babbling.

“Wait,  _ wait _ ,” Keith wiggled away with a giggle hanging from his pierced tongue, “I have a point, I promise.”

Shiro backed away, but barely an inch, jacket rolled up to his elbows, eyebrow raised in a “this better be worth us not be kissing right now” type of way.

“So, Bernie, he’d get drunk with Pop at night and forget where he left his keys to the bus the next morning. And my Pop always knew what to do, because Bernie  _ always _ forgot to lock the emergency exit,” Keith explained, tilting his head upwards suggestively.

Shiro only blinked in confusion. “I see…?”

Keith rolled his eyes, “Help me up.”

“Up where?”

Keith was already climbing up Shiro, one sneaker on his thigh and fingerless-gloved hands on his shoulders. Shiro took the hint and propelled Keith upwards to climb on top of the white and grey bus. Like a nimble cat, Keith found the balance instantaneously.

“A- _ ha _ . They left this one open too,” Keith’s mischievous smirk cut the air before he disappeared from Shiro’s sight, “Come on!”

“You can’t be serious,” Shiro laughed, using the large tire to impel himself upwards to join Keith on the rooftop of the bus. The tip of his combat boot slipped on the window but he managed to remain on top of it. His boyfriend was already sneaking into the little square that was the emergency vault; Shiro followed suit. 

The ambience of a school bus was rendered completely different at night. The moonlight gave it this sombre, almost haunted look, the badly coated seats with crude handwritten messages deprived of screaming children, the crowded atmosphere that teased his social discomfort; coming to think of it it had been years since Shiro had been on a school bus. It felt rather calm in opposition to what he did remember of it, if not for the adrenaline of breaking an entry rushing through his veins. With no one else but Keith in there, they were the kings of the playground with no competition to crave their righteous royal place. Their own kingdom, in the form of rows of deteriorated pairs of seats, an aluminium catwalk, and the single spotlight of the moon coming from the windows.

Steely eyes met starry ones, as Keith threw himself to the back of the bus, the longest bench, his legs spread open comfortably, hand inside his pocket. The silence was an invitation and Shiro walked across the tight hallway to where Keith was sitting with the intensity of two colliding stars.

“Where were we?” Keith wondered, hands fisting the front of Shiro’s shirt and bringing him closer, as close as they were meant to always be, breathing each other’s air, permanently merging into the beautiful thing they were together.

Shiro didn’t resist nor opposed the tug, back curved as he leaned down to taste Keith —and little remnants of himself from earlier,— drinking him all up at once. His tongue knew its way around Keith’s to see, like a star map written on the palm of his hand, a little cosmic dance that only they knew the steps to: the kiss broke with a low growl, stretched with a smirk; his knee between Keith’s legs; hand on his cheek on a caress and tracing its way to grab a gentle fist of Keith’s onyx coloured hair; the tilt of their heads just before they dive back in; and the feeling of drowning and being glad for the water entering his lungs.

_ The feeling of loving this man so, so much, it makes the moon blush. _

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Shiro breathed out —and just barely, with the intense grinding and all that use of teeth that would be hard to keep up to for anyone else but him. Keith giggled as if he could read Shiro’s mind, and then there was  _ sweat _ . There was groping and  _ needing _ , jeans hastily pulled down just until the middle of Shiro’s thighs, shirt rolled up to his collarbones, jacket hanging from his shoulders.

“You have any left?” Keith asked, before suckling a dark bruise over Shiro’s neck.  _ Of course he did _ , he knew better than to just carry one or two or three condoms when on a date with his boyfriend. Not always did they get to use them all, neither of them was that pretentious, but they’d rather have too many than none at all.  _ Just in case. _

Shiro’s reply consisted of reaching out for the wallet in his back pocket, and bringing out one sample of the silvery package they were so accustomed to. Even if he shouldn’t, he carefully ripped the package with his teeth and put it on himself, rolling it down his hardened length.

All the while Keith had already wiggled out of his own pants and made himself as comfortable as he could be in such a place —the seats were far from cosy, some kind of flat and spent upholstery seemingly stapled to a hard structure,— and Shiro couldn’t deny that a loose screw seemed to be stabbing him below the knee, but little did they care when all that mattered was how close they could get to one another.

“Ready, babe?” Shiro questioned with feigned patience, two fingers massaging his boyfriend’s entrance just before he guided the tip of his cock to the same spot. It should still be sensitive, raw from their previous endeavours, but that wouldn’t stop them when they were so drunk, so hard, so young and dumb and so fucking  _ hot _ .

“What do you think?” It was nothing short of an annoyed grunt, Keith’s heels prompting him forward, closer to him. Shiro pushed his cock inside, the rim tender and giving and anxious, too tight but then willing, too tight but then  _ perfect _ . Keith shriveled over himself, fists curled on the back of Shiro’s jacket, tugging at the denim, scratching it, away,  _ away, pull it  _ **_off_ ** _. _

Shiro shook with the movement to remove his jacket, struggling to balance while he worked his whole length in.

“ _ Fuck, _ Keith—” He moaned, each syllable dragged on with a pleasurable growl, his mechanical palm finding support on the rear window of the bus. Keith’s body accepted him as if they were meant to be joined like that, hips jerking the way he knew Keith liked, the muscles on his calves shifting with the effort of each thrust. 

“Like that… There!” Keith guided him with no need to do it; it had been easy for Shiro to memorize all of Keith’s tells, how he tilted his head when he liked it, how he frowned when it felt better, how to deliciously  _ torture _ him in all the right, loving ways.

His boyfriend looked beyond stunning, T-shirt with the logo of an underground indie garage band no one had ever heard about pulled up to his chest, cock hard and leaking as he stroked it, Shiro’s fingers digging on his thigh to hold him up. Shiro was delirious when Keith smirked and stuck his tongue out to show off his pierced tongue.

_ So hot, so fucking hot… _

Shiro leaned in to entangle their tongues, tasting flesh, drool and stainless steel. They panted and gasped and laughed and groaned, and the condom wrap was left on the floor of the bus, the moon being the only witness of the act that echoed their love as their mouths traced paths of saliva and bites and deep purple marks as signatures on a masterpiece. 

_ I love you, _ he should’ve said. He should’ve repeated it out loud as it repeated in his head, a mantra in sync with each thrust, a chant as his drool mixed with Keith’s, a  _ prayer _ when he came, the mess contained by the condom but not the sweat on his forehead, the mess of their hairs, the drain of their bodies. 

But Keith knew that. He knew that Shiro loved him, his hands cupping Shiro’s face, their noses touching as they caught their breaths. He knew Shiro loved him, and as they kissed slow and ardent, Shiro knew he was loved back just as hard.

* * *

The sky was still dark but the horizon slowly bled in pink tones. Shiro’s phone vibrated with the 5AM alarm but that sound was too far away. The haze of a half-sleep made it harder to compute the fact that the seat was too hard and his neck was stiff from sleeping wrong and in a weird position. 

Someone was screaming. Keith was moving. Fast.  _ Too fast. _ “Shiro!” A shove at Shiro’s shoulder. “Hurry!”

“What...?”

“Ye filthy sonsabitches!” He heard from the front of the bus. An old man with a thick accent —whose face Shiro was quick to forget— yelled from the top of his lungs, fumbling with a cellphone and pointing at him and Keith. “I’m calling the police! This is criminal trespass, ye fucking punks are going to jail!”

Keith used the bench to hoist himself up to the emergency exit that they’d used as an illegal entrance the night before. Shiro jumped right after him, the foul insults thrown at them from the bus driver lost in the process of their escape. As the road led to nowhere in particular, Shiro had to hold up his pants while running and catching up to Keith, the silver chains jiggling against his leg.

The sun was shy as it peeked from the East, Shiro and Keith only stopped running when nothing but arid desert surrounded them. No roads. No civilization. No truck tracks. Just them and a few stray cactuses, sly lizards and a hopping kangaroo rat in the barren distance. The scent of musky, wet desert would soon fade into a heat worthy of June, even with the rains of the previous week leaving remnants of the earthy scent of the creosote oil molecules.

It was such a peculiar, personal smell, one that would always represent his desert boy. Born and raised amid rattlesnakes, scorpions and red sand, something that fit Keith so well.

“Shit, I think I either dropped or forgot my jacket there,” Shiro realized as he slowed down to a stop with Keith. The realization that they’d broken into a bus in the middle of the night and made a mess of the backseat slowly sunk in as their eyes met and they bursted into laughter.

They panted so heavily and flopped down on the already warm ground and they  _ laughed _ until they ran out of the little breath they still had. Shiro’s face was red, eyes teary, chest full. Keith rolled on the dust, prompting his leg over Shiro so that he’d straddle him, the hints of the morning sunlight slipping in between the strands of dark, dark hair, adoration in his eyes, reflected right back at him in equal, constantly growing amounts.

“You’re... really something else, Keith Kogane,” Shiro sighed, giddy as the glee died down into comfortable smiles, his prosthetic hand caressing the thick scar over Keith’s cheek.  _ Absolutely beautiful, and so absolutely  _ **_his_ ** _. _


End file.
